


Trouble in the Bunker

by LiMPllamas



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fiddleford made the first escape room 1982, Gen, POV Fiddleford H. McGucket, Panic Attacks, Spoilers - Journal 3, Thriller, but not a bad one either, canon compliant if you squint, fiddleford centric, i'm just saying canon ford is not a reliable narrator, not exactly a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-10-25 18:16:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20728634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiMPllamas/pseuds/LiMPllamas
Summary: “S-Shifty?” He called out to the darkness hesitantly. A crackle of electricity answered back. The backup generator came to life, and a pulsing, blood red light bathed the room. Fiddleford saw the cage, or what was left of the cage. It had been disfigured from the inside out, steel bars twisted and mauled like foil. He turned around quickly at the sound of a sickening squelch. In front of him, the creature loomed above him, engulfing what little light was left, in a form that he didn’t recognize.A different perspective on Shifty trying to escape from the bunker. The real Journal 3 shows the heroics of Stanford, but what really happened that night? I'll update weekly





	1. Fiddleford is not your UberEats delivery FORD!

“Sweet sarsaparilla,” Fiddleford sighed under his breath after checking his watch. He pulled out of the truck stop at 12:30am. Another late night at the bunker, and another round of killer coffee and jelly beans. He groggily dodged the raccoons on the road while choking down a sip of bitter joe. How Ford could survive without cream, sugar, or a normal amount of sleep eluded him. Unfortunately, his partner’s unnatural schedule affected his as well. How long was it since he had called his wife? Or heard his son’s laugh on the telephone? He couldn’t remember for the life of him…Come to think of it, he had trouble remembering the simplest things recently. _ ‘Must be this heaven forsaken sleep deprivation,’ _ he comforted himself. He turned on his favorite radio, _ 61.8 Hillbilly Hootenanny, _ to drown out his thoughts.

After driving up to the bunker, he pulled down the lever from the artificial tree. He managed to not trip his way down the circular stairs until he finally reached the bunker’s entrance. The secret door slid up as Fiddleford trudged in. He hissed audibly at the bright lights when they flickered on. The room was a comfortable amount of a mess with his latest blueprints strewn across the floor and bed. To Ford and him, it was organized perfectly, but if his mama, bless her soul, ever came down here, she’d faint.

“Ford, I’ve got your coffee and beans,” He shouted hoarsely. No response. Ford was probably working his hide off in the storage unit on that cryotube. Fidds grumbled, “I ain’t his doggone secretary, probably listen’n to his BABBA 8-track too.”

“BABBA?”

Fiddleford jumped and gave a totally manly shriek when he heard that voice. He turned and saw that lil’ creature gazing at him questioningly with those unnerving eyes. He shuddered at the thought of eyes, but he didn’t know why. He couldn’t understand Ford’s affection towards such a thing. ‘Shifty’ was only useful for the test tube, and all that lovin’ and callin’ it a pet was just gonna hurt Ford in the long run. Years of living on the hog farm taught Fidds an important lesson: Don’t get attached to things you’re only going to use in the end. He reckoned he should at least answer the beast.

“Well, it’s a band that plays music, but not good stuff like my banjo playin’,” He answered, turning to the cage where it crouched, “Though, nothin’s as good as banjo playin’.”

“What’s that in your hand?” Shifty asked, curiosity shining through its eyes. Fiddleford liked to think he was a cautious man, not paranoid thank you very much, but lack of sleep wears even the strongest conspiracy theorist down… or winds ‘em up, dependin’ on the theorist. He distrusted Shifty, but he also pitied it. So why not humor it if it wanted to know what coffee was?

“Ford’s life blood,” He deadpanned, “Give ‘im too much or none at all, and he’d die.”

“Really,” the creature perked up at this. Fiddleford failed to catch how excited the little devil was.

“Just kiddn’ ya! At most he’ll fall asleep. But it’s gettin’ a bit cold now, so I gotta run.” He chuckled to himself while twisting open the tube’s door. He didn’t hear the bug mutter curses at him or wrench its prison’s bars in frustration. Crawling through a metal passage and holding a cup at the same time wasn’t the easiest thing to do, despite what the rumors say. After several minutes of careful shuffling, he arrived to his magnum opus: The Security Room.

Though he designed the entire bunker, he prided himself especially over the security room. When Ford, the anti-social, top of his class, cipher extraordinaire, and possibly working with a demon, thinks it’s excessive, he knew he captured that ‘mad-scientist’ side of himself perfectly. Ford thought that it was a death trap, but he made sure that no harm would come to anything that was misguided enough to enter this place. Punching the passcode in, Fidds had just seen the observation door open when he heard a roar come from the bunker. Dropping the coffee, he dashed towards first room. He crammed his body back into the tube, going as fast as he could while the howls continued.

Fiddleford tumbled out the other end, slamming into the concrete floor, and he was blinded again by the darkness of the bunker. Steam hissed at him as he tried to orientate himself. The alarms blared in his ears. He pulled himself up by the door handle, trying desperately to focus on something, anything. His knees started bouncing reflexively as anxiety started to take over him.

“S-Shifty?” He called out to the darkness hesitantly. A crackle of electricity answered back. The backup generator came to life, and a pulsing, blood red light bathed the room. Fiddleford saw the cage, or what was left of the cage. It had been disfigured from the inside out, steel bars twisted and mauled like foil. He turned around quickly at the sound of a sickening squelch. In front of him, the creature loomed above him, engulfing what little light was left, in a form that he didn’t recognize.


	2. Chapter 2

The beast’s glowing, crystalline eyes caught his attention first, but he could only see their malice. Shifty’s mouth had a horrid combination between insect pincers and human lips. A grotesque, mucus-like substance encased the creature’s creamy innards in a thin film, the emergency lights reflecting off of it. Its appendages reminded him somewhat of a crab’s, if that crab survived a nuclear bomb. Altogether, it would have been fascinating, if it hadn’t been so terrifying.  


“Shhh-Shif,” He tried to speak. Oh, how he sputtered trying to say a word, scream, or do anything with his vocal chords. Fiddleford’s entire body shook with adrenaline, instinct revving him up for a fight or flight response, but he was frozen in place.  


The insectoid gave a wet, gruesome smile to his prey and growled, “Where might I find that book Ford always has around?”  


Fiddleford blinked in surprise. “T-The journal? I think he h-has it? I don’t know!” He squeaked automatically. Internally Fidds was groaning at himself. _ Sure, sure tell the monster everything, _ he thought through his panicked frenzy, _ I bet I’ll hop onto his plate next. _  


The thing grunted with contemplation. It was trying to tell if he was lying, he assumed. After what seemed like an eternity Shifty made up its mind with another roar.  


“Where. Is. The. Journal?” It punctuated each word with a step towards Fiddleford. Shifty’s body lurched forward squishing and stretching thin with every movement. Fidds was forced to back up until he couldn’t move any further. He was cornered.  


“Why?” Fiddleford choked out, his legs almost giving out on him. He groped around the wall discreetly for the entrance of the tube, hoping the question would distract Shifty. The monster thankfully seemed taken aback by the question and tried formulating a sentence.  


“Because I- You wou- I NEED IT!” It finally decided, glaring down at him. Fiddleford looked it square in the eyes and stood erect, channeling all his fear.  


“Well good luck with that.” He spat at Shifty and shot back into the tube, spinning it shut. The entire metal shaft shook with its enraged banging. He popped out the other end knowing it wouldn’t hold the shapeshifter forever. He hopped on several incorrect buttons to make the door he was running for shut after he was through and ran past the gateway towards the observation lounge. He stole a glance back to see the monster burst out from the tube.  


The observation room had many safety measures, but most were for protecting itself from the storage room and not the security room. Without Ford’s knowledge, he had installed a few… just to be safe. Flipping a switch on the wall, Fiddleford watched several layers of concrete descend in front of the door. That would surely by him a few minutes he thought while catching his breath. Trying to keep himself from a panic attack, he slipped into his scientific, clinical mindset. He couldn’t let this thing hurt Ford, and though he was still frightened, his slim figure became rigid with determination.  


“Deal with problem now okay, panic attack later.” He reassured himself, lightly slapping himself to focus. He considered his options:  


1\. Get Ford. No, that wouldn’t work since he could be anywhere in the caverns past storage. Fiddleford looked outside the observation’s window to double check. No sign of him.  


2\. Zap the monster’s memories into nothingness. That’d be perfect if he had the gun with him, but no dice. He silently cursed himself with the fanciest words he could think of.  


3\. The worst option, but the only option…. Fight off the devil by himself until Ford came to help. That wouldn’t happen for a while. His weapons would be his favorite banjo, a magnet gun, and his wits.  


The door started creaking with fists pummeling into it. Fiddleford ran over to the cabinets and grabbed the gun and banjo. Concrete dust drifted down as the shaking continued. The metal door groaned over its abuse while he finished his defenses. Deciding to keep Stanford and the journal safe, he locked the entrance to the storage cavern. Reinforced metal slid over the windows and barricaded the door. CRASH, the blockade crumbled as Shifty barreled through, falling into the wreckage.  


“Stay back!” warned Fiddleford, raising the gun at the pile. Feeling the gun in his hand, he took an all too familiar stance. How many times had he pointed a gun at Ford like this? Or at himself? His finger longingly twitched towards the trigger. After a minute of no movement from the debris, Fiddleford stepped closer to get a better view. And closer. Was it dead? The dust aggravated his lungs and burned his eyes. Suddenly, it became too much for his body, and he doubled over with a massive sneeze from his Pinocchio nose. He recovered from it within seconds, but it was too late.  


The thing knocked the gun out of his hands, shattering it instantly once it hit the floor. One weapon down, two more to go. Fiddleford raced towards his banjo, and with a yell of defiance, charged head on. Luckily, what it had in brute strength, it lacked in fighting skills since Ford wasn’t that dumb to teach it. The banjo let out a sad twang as it was clocked across Shifty’s face. _ It’s just like hog wrestlin’, _ Fiddleford told himself swinging again and again, _ It’s only a hog. _  


The creature figured out how to dodge quickly, but it had clearly taken damage. It limped slightly as it eyed its prey from a distance. Fiddleford kept his banjo pointed at the beast, his breathing ragged and body hunched. Suddenly, its body melted into an exact replica of his coworker and friend.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, writing in HTML *hacker voice* I'm in. Seriously why do they make it so complicated to italicize and indent? Anyways, I can't wait to see what happens next! Any and all comments are appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

“Fiddleford,” started the Not-Ford, “Why are you doing this?” His muffled voice warped with Ford’s sorrow.  


“Don’t y-you try and trick m-me,” Fiddleford snarled back, lowering his banjo, “I know you ain’t my Ford!”  


It shrugged back, faux sorrow replaced by mirth, “But don’t I look like him, sound like him, even,” it paused taking in the human’s pitiful attempt at bravery, “Bleed like him,” It transformed one of its hands back into a claw that started digging lightly into “Ford’s” upper arm. Fiddleford paled at the sight, and the monster, pleased with the reaction, continued. Crimson droplets appeared and soon became a river. The skin flushed angrily as it was peeled back while muscles started to peek through. Shifty added, “I can’t wait to do this to the real one!”  


“St-Stop… Please,” Fiddleford begged. He couldn’t stand to see his friend in pain, even a fake version. Grimacing in pain through its own handiwork, the monster surprisingly obliged and yanked out the claw. He continued, “Now… I don’t know where that cursed journal is, but I-I don’t think you’ll find it. Fo-Ford never lets me look at the thing.” That last part was truer than he cared to admit. Shifty shifted on its feet, deciding its next move.  


“I suppose,” It started, “That if you won’t bring it to me, Ford will.” It put a hideous grin on Ford’s face. Before he could react, the bloodied claw whipped straight into Fiddleford’s chest. The scientist’s body slammed into a filing cabinet, but his head caught the edge of a desk with a sickening thump. His vision went double as he saw two Fords tackling him. Fidds shoved them off sloppily but trying to stand seemed impossible with his four legs. He saw the twin Fords reach for him again, and he shielded himself with the remains of Bandy the Banjo. Closing his eyes for a brief moment to dull the pain, he struggled towards the door. He felt a slimy claw surround his neck.  


He barely had enough time to mutter an, “Oh no,” before he was yanked backwards.  


“One move,” Shifty (or was it Ford?) harshly spat in his ear, “and I snap that neck of yours.” He stiffened at the threat.  


“…Got it.” Fiddleford whispered airlessly back.  


“I wonder,” His friend’s stolen voice practically purred, “How much screaming it would take to have old Fordsy run back with that journal to help you?” It squeezed his airways tightly. Fiddleford panicked at this, and his knees started bouncing at unparalleled speeds.  


“Wait wait wait,” he gasped out, “It’s soundproof in here! He’ll never hear! Oh please please,” He let himself fall and kept pleading. After all that his sleep deprived mind could handle, the thought of torture shattered it. He should’ve never taken this job; he should be with his wife and kid! _Oh God, please don’t let it end like this,_ he prayed. His hollowed words stopped long ago, replaced with silent sobs.  


The monster grumbled, pacing back and forth still wearing its Ford-suit. Once it had come up with its final plan, it glanced back to Fiddleford prostrated in silent agony. Pathetic, it thought, rolling its eyes.  


His bruised body was numb by the time his attacker had bound and gagged him. The gag wasn’t necessary; he couldn’t find his voice anyways. Fiddleford was pitifully dragged back to the bunker, not one attempt at rebellion. The last thing he registered was the bunker’s cabinets slamming him shut inside.  


He awoke to a soft _clang _ coming from, well he didn’t know where. Why was it so dark? Why couldn’t he move?  


_What happened? _ He tried to say, but it came out as, “Whmmthp.” He then remembered the night’s events. An uncontrolled scream erupted from Fidd’s gagged mouth as he shook within the metal walls. He grit his teeth against the gag while hot tears dripped down his face. He felt around with his hands for any sharp objects. _Of course there isn’t any_, he realized,_ I’ll just hafta sit this one out_. But for how long? It dawned on him that he might be stuck there for quite a while… or forever. Bile rose up in him as he noticed the thickness of the air. How much oxygen would hold him till he’s found? He tried slowing his breath to conserve the air, but his breathing kept getting faster. Tiny shudders that ran through his body grew into convulsions. He just wanted to move! _ Get out get out get out_, commanded his mind. His arms were sore after being held behind his back for however long it was. His heart found a new home in his ears, pounding against them. The pitch black smothered him, keeping him from finding a distraction. _Think about lil’ Tate_, he tiredly tried to calm himself. _And how you’ll never see him again, the devil on his shoulder retorted_.  


He gave up on thinking and resorted to screaming. A worthy distraction, finally. His vocal cords strained and grew hoarse, but after an eternity, he was answered. A beam of red light peeked through the void, instantly quieting his cries.  


“Fidds?” An unsure voice whispered. He shook his head fervently. The rest of the door squeaked open to reveal a ragged Ford staring down at him. Fiddleford tensed at the sight of his colleague. It’s probably Shifty messing with his mind again. Did it already kill Ford then? Best keep his mouth shut.  


‘Ford’ then prattled on about how ‘Shifty’ must’ve ‘tricked’ him and began making plans for their ‘escape’. Fiddleford mutely responded with nods whenever ‘Ford’ asked him something and even spoke once or twice. He didn’t start believing it was his Ford until he saw the monster frozen in the tube.  


An, “Are you alright?” pulled him out of his wordless stupor. They were in the truck driving back to the house. Rain pattered down the truck’s windshield endlessly. His mind instantly raced towards the idea of the memory gun against his own head. Perfect.  


He decided to shrug as an answer, but after a worried look from Ford, Fiddleford replied, “I will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I just wanted to make sure it was up to snuff. I remember researching back when I wrote this about panic attacks, and boy, I have the experience now, so I think it's accurate.

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, so I wrote this thing AGES ago back when the journal was first released. I noticed that many people were not grabbing the new source material and making fanfics (except on Dip's name), so I took it upon myself to make this. After editing, and re-editing, I finally feel comfortable posting it lol. In my humble opinion, Ford's not the most... objective writer, ergo, he would put himself in a heroic position in the journal. This means the canon journal is more of a guideline than strict for me, sucks for Fidds. :V


End file.
